By the time he was eight, Harry had given up on expecting to make friends if he was nice to people. Harry hunting was the only thing that counted as an interaction with his peers. Being scrawny and able to hide didn't help much if your assailants knew where you lived and you were the local scapegoat. No one would help him. They would just watch silently, laugh or even worse - encourage the abuse of Harry.
In the spare moments distanced from cleaning or running away from Dudders and his gang, Harry would escape away into the world of books. With books, he could imagine the fantastical worlds. He didn't have to be afraid of the word magic. He could read about great adventures and daring heroes.
It had been almost a year since the last weird incident. Harry was glad nothing bizarre had happened around him. He didn't quite understand how he arrived on that roof, nor did he understand how the teacher's wig turned blue. It had taken a long time for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to stop glaring at him so harshly. They still glared, but at least it wasn't as constant now.
His family was odd. For some reason, they were respected by the community. Aunt Petunia did nothing but gossip, yet she somehow had all of the other wives in Little Whinging supporting her. Uncle Vernon was a man who liked to yell at the telly until he was a red as a tomato, yet somehow he had a decent position at Grunnings. The world was bizarre. Harry much preferred the wonders of fantasy worlds. At least the strange things that Harry did wouldn't be so abnormal there. If Harry lived in his books, it's the Dursleys who would be the odd ones! Harry could adventure and they wouldn't be able to yell at him at all. There wouldn't be all this "boy do this, boy do that!" nonsense.
Harry wasn't sure why boy bothered him so much. It wasn't that it was a bad word. It just didn't make much sense. Harry wasn't a boy, Harry was just Harry. Did others feel this way? Did Dudley? Of course, Harry used the boys washroom and was a boy. It just didn't really make much sense. People were people. Why need to add in all these extra names? It seemed so pointless; it was just another thing for Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon to yell at him as if it were his fault for getting out of the cupboard each day instead of melting into the stairs.
AN: I'm not sure how much I want to describe Harry's life. Should I stick to little aspects of his pre-Hogwarts life? Should I continue through all of the books themselves? Should I write Harry as an adult too? I have ideas for everything, I'm just not sure what people may want to read. Please let me know if there's anything in particular I should write about, or things I need to improve upon.